


The Sleeping Fic - Stiles Edition

by SylphofScript



Series: Everyday I'm Drabblin' [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Drabble, Friendship, Insomnia, One Shot, Platonic Relationships, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylphofScript/pseuds/SylphofScript
Summary: Stiles isn't sleeping, and Lydia's had enough of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr of the same username, this was created while trying to write more for my Star Trek fic featuring similar issues (IE, sleeping). It's short and it doesn't really have any true plot, but there IS more to what I'm posting here. Meaning it may become a two-shot or a chapter fic (potentially with actual pairings, too) if I can flesh it out enough. 
> 
> Which might become true before long, because I have a horrible habit of writing for other things when I'm supposed to be updating specific works. But, anywho.
> 
> For now, it's a drabble. Enjoy.

 

Stiles couldn’t remember exactly when he had stopped sleeping.

Rather, he could, but at the time it hadn’t really seemed that important when stacked up against everything else going on in his life. At the time, it had just been another casualty of the world he lived in, and he’d dealt with it like he had everything else that wasn’t quite as important as the life-threatening _something_ that was taking a hold on his every waking moment—he ignored it.

What he actually couldn’t remember was when it started becoming a real issue.

Yeah, sure, it had been an issue from the start, considering sleep was pretty much a human necessity and sleep deprivation was actually lethal in large doses, but, again. There were more important things that required his waking attention, sleep had kind of … slipped to the side. And then stayed there. And then didn’t really resurface because it had been buried under another onslaught of bullshit and forgotten.

Because, really. Who needed sleep? College kids certainly didn’t, so why did he?

Life-threatening factor. Right.

Plus, okay. He did find himself in at least three times more life-threatening situations than your average college student did, and you kind of had to be as alert as possible in those situations in order to potentially survive them.

That basically took the life-threatening factor to a whole new level.

Which was really becoming a legit thing, actually, according to Lydia, who had so unceremoniously pulled Stiles aside one day at school to glare up at him and accuse him of slowly killing himself, but with much bigger words. Big enough that Stiles didn’t know what she was even talking about when she first started speaking.

“... What?” he’d asked, squinting down at her in confusion, and then wriggling around so she’d let go of his shirt-front. She’d done so reluctantly, but kept him crammed up against the corner of a locker and the adjoining wall like a pillar of steel in four-inch heels. “Could you repeat that, but with, say, Scott-level vocabulary? I’m runnin’ on fumes here, you’re going to have to slap the training wheels on this vehicle before you continue on forward.”

“That is exactly my point, Stiles,” she said, flipping her strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder in an accusatory way. “When was the last time you slept?”

And that was the first time Stiles had actually thought about it. It took him a good two minutes of brain-wracking and forehead scrunching to actually determine if he had slept that night (because he hadn’t, he’d spent it flipping over chemical compounds and rifling through files in his room, trying to come up with new forms of smokescreen solutions that were better applied to supernatural creatures as opposed to humans, while Malia slept in his bed behind him), or the night before. Which had been … Monday night? No, today was Thursday.

Wasn’t it? Shit.

“Tue…sday night?” he tried, more to himself than to Lydia, because he was pretty sure that was correct. “When did I send out that file of hunter reports to the group? Wasn’t that Tuesday? I feel like that was Tuesday.”

“That was Tuesday,” she confirmed, but her tone made it clear this was not what she had wanted to hear. “Are you saying you haven’t slept since Tuesday?”

“The files were important!” Stiles exclaimed, his voice rising a few octaves in desperation as Lydia closed the distance between them, her eyes narrowing dangerously. A few years ago, he’d dreamed about being this close to her, day dreamed about it multiple times a week—now, it was just plain terrifying. “I had to get them together and send them out before Scott got impatient and decided they weren’t worth waiting for. He needed to know that theyweren’taTHREATTO _LYDIA_.”

“I’m spending the night tonight,” she said, breathing mint and something fruity into his face as he recoiled like a kitten. Jesus, she was way too close. Holy shit.

Stiles barely caught what she had said in his panicked animal state. It took a moment for him to compute. “You’re—what? No. My dad would kill me. And then resurrect me to give me the sex talk. Again. Even though he knows we’re just friends. God, _believe me_ , he knows we’re just friends. He’d do it anyway to make a point about bringing girls into my room for slumber parties.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. It was a perfect roll; Stiles would have given it a 10 if he could move his arms at all. “Then you’re spending the night.”

“It’s a school night.”

She looked properly disgusted at the lame-ass excuse, and for good reason. Stiles was disgusted at the lame-ass excuse. It was the lamest of lame-ass excuses, and Stiles should be punished for it.

Just maybe not by the five-foot-three banshee currently so close to Stiles that he could actually count her eyelashes if he wanted to. Not that he wanted to. Anymore.

Well, okay, maybe he still kind of did. Old vices did die hard.

“Okay, okay. But Scott needs to come,” Stiles amended. Lydia gave that a head tilt of consideration.

“I’d ask why, but with the way he’s been acting lately, I think I’d actually prefer it to leaving him alone at night. But,” she started before Stiles could even manage to act relieved about the agreement, “you’re not staying up and discussing anything supernatural-related. Actually, you’re not discussing anything at all, you’re going straight to sleep and you’re sleeping until either I wake you up for school or you get in eight hours.”

 Stiles doubted that would actually happen, but he really wasn’t at the liberty to argue with her. She’d find out for herself how it worked, so for now, it was easier to just agree and allow her the satisfaction of having gotten what she wanted.

“Alright, deal.”

With a smile worthy of a mountain lion, Lydia patted Stiles on the arm and backed off, leaving him in a slumped heap against the wall just as Coach came into view. He looked between the retreating Lydia and the disgruntled, out-of-breath Stiles with the trademarked Confused Coach Look.

“Are you two dating now?” he asked in a voice that was way louder than it needed to be. “I thought you were dating that one girl with the highlighter addiction. Makia or something. Well, good on you, Stilinski.” He smacked Stiles on the shoulder and laughed, then pointed a finger at him as he flinched and tried to cram closer into his cranny, way over his quota of man-handling for the day. “Hey, no PDA. You hear me? Save it for the streets.”

“Sure, Coach,” Stiles amended, giving Coach a disgruntled look. Appeased, Coach wandered off in the same direction as Lydia, and Stiles was finally able to peel himself away from the metal and stone conjunction that he was getting ready to call home. He’d made it fifteen seconds before Scott appeared with Kira at his side, all smiles and amusement.

“What was that all about?” he asked, laughing.

“Coach trying to be a good citizen again.” Stiles rubbed his arm and glowered. “Or something.”

“His approach needs some work,” Kira said. Scott and Stiles echoed her together with a “no kidding” before Stiles remembered what had happened previous to Coach.

“Hey, spending the night at Lydia’s tonight.”

Scott’s face fell. “What? But we were going to work on those wolfsbane bombs with the different powders and stuff. I got all the things from Deaton, they’re in my backpack.”

“We can still do it,” Stiles said, waving his hand. “You’re spending the night, too. We’ll just have to play mad scientist in Lydia’s bedroom instead of mine. Bring your mask.”

“But it’s a school night,” Kira pointed out. Scott gave her a look that Stiles managed to refrain from sharing, having just used the excuse himself.

“So?”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay up too late,” Stiles told her, clapping a hand on Scott’s back. Kira looked dubious, but she didn’t continue to argue it. She kissed Scott goodbye and left for final period. Scott turned to Stiles as soon as she was out of earshot. “You’re not actually going to give me a bedtime.”

“Hell no. But Lydia might, that’s why I’m there in the first place. She doesn’t like my current sleeping schedule.”

Scott squinted at Stiles. “Why? What’s wrong with your sleeping schedule?”

“Nothing, dude. Lydia’s just being bossy, it’s best not to fight her when she’s on a mission.” Which, of course, was bullshit, but Stiles knew the moment he admitted to Scott that, no, he wasn’t sleeping, he’d be in for hell and a half and lose a partner on his side. Scott’d probably figure it out eventually anyway, once he focused his attentions a little better. The poor guy had enough on his plate at the moment, he barely noticed if he was fully dressed in the morning. Stiles really didn’t want to add to it and risk him showing up for school without pants, which has almost happened on two occasions now.

The world really wasn’t ready for that. They were just now getting over the whole shirtless stint that spanned over the past three or four years, courtesy of top-hating werewolves everywhere. A break was needed, so, for now, he’d just go with the flow.

It had to work out in the end, right?

-

“Why do things never work out how I want them to,” Stiles whined as he watched his and Scott’s backpacks being confiscated right in front of their faces and shoved into a closet by Lydia’s front door. Neither of them had said a word to Lydia about the fact there were distractions in their backpacks, but she had somehow known and had demanded them three feet into the doorway with one perfectly manicured finger.

“Because you have unrealistic hopes when it comes to things where I’m clearly the one in control,” Lydia answered, slamming the closet door shut and turning the lock with a tiny key she pulled out of nowhere. “You’re going to sleep tonight, not play potions master.”

Stiles glowered. If he were five years less mature than he was currently, he’d have stomped his foot in frustration and maybe thrown some semblance of a teenage tantrum, but he was already pushing it and didn’t think he could afford to lose more maturity years than he already had.

“I could break that open easily,” Scott pointed out as Lydia led the two boys to her kitchen and threw open the fridge. Lydia snorted, which was somehow just as ladylike as everything else she did. “Not if you don’t want to face me when I find out. Drink?”

That shut Scott up, and he accepted his Diet Coke without another word. Stiles really, really couldn’t blame him. You don’t cross Lydia, especially not in her own home. He snapped the tab on his soda once it was handed to him and followed Lydia up to her bedroom, where she perched on her bed while Scott and Stiles stood awkwardly in the doorway.

It took a moment of sipping and staring before anyone bothered to speak up.

“I know we didn’t come over right after school since we had to wrassle Liam into promising he wouldn’t stick his head up his own ass and panic at the result,” Stiles started in a tone he hoped was convincing, considering what he was about to propose, “and then go grab our overnight stuff, but we’ve still got a few hours of daylight, maybe we could—”

Lydia looked at her nails and cut him off. “It’s October, Stiles, the sun sets in two hours.” Stiles blanched and looked at his watch—there’s no way she was right. How long had they been lecturing Liam? It had only seemed like thirty minutes at the most but … she was right. It was already four-thirty.

Stiles clutched his head in confusion. Scott continued sipping his soda. “Wow, okay. Two hours is enough time to test out two or three combinations, can’t we just—”

“No.” Lydia’s clipped tone left no room for argument, but Stiles wasn’t one to refuse to push just because there wasn’t any room to move.

“Lydia, this is _important_ ,” he started, but got no further.

“Not as important as your health, Stiles! You’re here, you’re settling down, and you’re going to sleep. Scott is going to help me— _yes_ , you are Scott, he hasn’t been sleeping enough and it’s getting dangerous—don’t you _dare_ , Stiles, I’m talking here. You are _sleeping_ , not mixing potentially dangerous chemicals in my house, especially not when you haven’t slept in days. Recipe for disaster is not what I signed up for tonight.”

Silence met Lyida’s words. Stiles fidgeted uncomfortably; Scott frowned at them both.

“You haven’t slept in days?” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh. He really hadn’t wanted Scott knowing the details.

“Only for the past few weeks. I’ve been busy, man.” Scott clearly wasn’t happy with this information. Stiles wouldn’t have been either, if the shoe had been on the other foot. “We’ve had a lot going on. I planned on catching up as soon as we had the wolfsbane thing sorted out.”

“What? That could have taken weeks, Stiles.”

“Hey, give me a little credit.” Stiles feigned mock offense, but Scott didn’t relinquish his unhappy frown. “I’m sure I could have found it out much sooner, the formula couldn’t have been that complex. In fact, if you just let me pop downstairs and grab—”

Met with a resounding “no” from both parties—Scott had clearly just left the side that belonged to Stiles and saddled up with Team Lydia on the whole matter—Stiles slumped down against the doorframe and sipped his drink noisily. When Scott became part of the voice of reason, there really was no more fighting it.

“Alright, fine. What do you expect me to do until I can calm down enough to sleep?”

Unexpectedly, Lydia smiled.

“I’m going to make you take a bath.”

“I’m—what?” Stiles would have been sure he’d heard her wrong if it weren’t for the fact Scott was now obviously trying to hold back a giggle, his mouth hidden behind his soda and his eyes crinkling at Stiles in humor.

“It’ll help you relax,” Lydia continued, pushing herself up off of her bed with a flourish of red hair and flowing skirts. “I’m basically a connoisseur of bathing, you’ll enjoy it.”

“I am not taking a bath, Lydia.”

She smirked at him like he was a slobbery puppy. “Aw, you think I’m giving you a choice. Cute.”

-

She ran him a bath. With bubbles and scents and a bath bomb that fizzed as he sat in the warm, comfortable water and left miniscule glitter on his skin even after he’d scrubbed all the water off and changed into his pajamas. Then, when he came out, she went and did the same for Scott, much to his delight. While he was in there, she sat Stiles down on her bed and made him stay relaxed, sitting in the chair in the corner and watching him from a reclined, curled up position.

“Can’t I at least have my phone?” he asked after a moment, watching her watch him. She shook her head, eyebrow raised. “But you have your phone!” he refuted immediately, pointing to the pink-cased device she was tapping away at. “I think I should be allowed my phone, too, if you’re on one.”

“No. Blue light keeps you awake.”

“So does my ADHD, I need something to focus on.”

“You do not, you need to stay relaxed so you can get to sleep.”

“It’s seven o’clock!”

“Never too early when you’re sleep deprived.”

“I call prejudice!”

She leveled him with a look, and he lowered his arm and pouted, knowing it would get him anywhere just as fast as arguing would. Which, of course, was nowhere.

“I worry, Stiles,” she said after a beat of her tapping on her phone screen and him pouting at the wall. That made him feel guilty, because he knows she does. They all do, about each other. That’s why they were best friends. That’s why they were pack.

“I know.” He scratched the fabric over his arm, chewed his lip. “The last time I couldn’t sleep—”  he’d cut himself off, but Lydia picked it up without prompt and little more than half a heartbeat of silence. “The last time you couldn’t sleep, you almost died.”

Stiles couldn’t help but wince at that. But it wasn’t the same this time; he was just really, really busy. And stressed out. And doing too much at once for too many people.

There weren’t enough hours in the day; he was just making more.

“It’s been hard with one fountain of useful knowledge away doing his own thing and several new people to take care of and try to keep out of trouble, never mind having to take care of the constant smaller issues that keep on popping up while we’re busy being students,” Stiles admitted, peeling the cuticle skin on his thumb as he spoke. Lydia noticed and stood up to stop him with a hand on his. He stilled. “There’s a lot we have to get done, and not enough time to do it. Even Deaton’s scrambling, and I’m working on taking his place as the temporary knowledge head so he can focus on all the other stuff he has to do, while Scott’s learning what he can while he works with him, and then you’re scrambling with school and college and your whole banshee thing, so I’m trying to get more done faster so it’s less we have to do in the long run, and it’s just …” he trailed off, frowning. Straining his fingers against his palms, screwing his face up and releasing the tension with a sigh.

“… Hard,” Lydia finished for him, and he nodded. She shook her head. “You’re doing too much. I know Scott has a lot on his hands with Liam and his issues, Kira’s busy with her powers and parents, Malia keeps vanishing on her parent hunt without warning, Derek is gone and so is all the help he supplied,” she stopped, crushing Stiles’ hand in hers, her gaze off to the side. “God, this is such a mess.”

“No kidding,” he agreed quietly, and then sighed. “It’ll make college look like a cake walk.”

“College.” Without releasing Stiles’ hand, Lydia sat next to him and slumped down. “I don’t even want to think about college. I can’t wait to get to that part of my life, but right now? Last on the list.”

“Exactly. That’s just it, that’s what the whole sleeping thing is. There are so many more things I need to focus on right now. And people are relying on me for those things, y’know? And with the way everything’s been going for the past few years I’m pretty much terrified of leaving things for too long when more is just going to keep piling up and up.”

Lydia leaned in, pressing her shoulder against his and leaning her head to the side. Stiles tilted his head to meet hers. “It’s scary. There’s so much to do, and all the things that need to be done. Especially now.”

“You can’t put sleep behind those things, Stiles. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m okay.”

“Stiles,” Lydia began. Stiles stopped her.

“I am, really. It’s not—“ he paused, chewed his lip for a moment, and tried again. Lydia waited, still against him. Stiles wanted to be clear and careful; he wasn’t going to fuck this up, dammit. Not with Lydia—not when he knew she was trying hard not to think about what had happened last time. He’d hurt so many more people than just himself; he had to soothe where he could. He didn’t blame them for anything that had happened, but they blamed themselves. “This whole not-sleeping thing is purely because I have more things that need attention than I do right now. I swear. I don’t feel twitchy and filled with impending doom like I did when I was ransacked by a bullshit supernatural entity. I’m still Stiles.” He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. “I’m still me. I just feel tired, stressed, and like I need a to-do list permanently tattooed on my ass just so I can make sure I don’t forget to do something and cause some sort of Armageddon. A huge, vibrant tattoo. In rainbow colors, even. Big Comic Sans lettering.”

Lydia laughed; Stiles smiled. The tension in the room lowered five notches and suddenly, he felt like crying. His chest ached. “Maybe not on my ass, then I wouldn’t be able to see it easily.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, pulled away. Her hand still held onto his. “I’ll leave that decision to you, but not until after you’ve had time to sleep on the idea.”

To his surprise, a yawn pulled from his chest and he opened his mouth wide enough to crack his jaw with the motion. Exhaustion fell over him like a blanket, sudden and stifling.

“Whoa,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to open his eyes more than halfway. “The hell did you put in that water?”

Lydia shot him a triumphant smile. “Get under the covers before you pass out so I don’t have to make Scott tuck you in.”

“Such a motherly demeanor,” Stiles shot back sluggishly, pulling himself away and up the bed. Combing the covers back, he crammed his legs under and settled onto his side, his eyes still open but his vision blurring to the point that he didn’t see any reason to continue keeping them open. His head spun with weariness and the pressure he had felt behind his eyes for the past nine days was suddenly too much to fight anymore, and he gave into the blackness without much more than a mumbled curse at how easily he had lost the fight he’d kept up.

At some point, he drifted back to consciousness long enough to register someone climbing into the bed next to him and slinging an arm over his waist, only understanding with the onslaught of heat that it was Scott, and the following body to come was Lydia, curled up next to him with no more than her elbow tucked into the small of his back and her foot pressed against his calf—enough to know she was there if he needed her but not enough to make him feel like he was being sandwiched between the two of them. Not that he would have minded being sandwiched, but he couldn’t convey this thought at the moment, so he left it as it was and simply appreciated his friends were there and that the bed was just barely big enough to house all three of them.

Pushing his fist gently into the hollow of Scott’s chest to let him know he was okay, Stiles bent his head against the jutting side of Scott’s pillow and didn’t wake again for the rest of the night.

 


End file.
